were no longer hungry, but ate sweet porridge whenever they chose.
Once when the girl had gone out her mother said, "Cook, little pot, cook." The mother ate till she was satisfied. But when she wanted the pot to stop she found she did not know the word. So it went on cooking and the porridge rose over the edge. STILL it cooked on until the kitchen and the whole house were full, and then the next house, and then the whole street, as if it meant to feed the whole world. No one could stop it.
At last when only one house remained the child came home from the opposite direction and just said, "Stop, little pot, stop," and it stopped.
But whoever wished to come back to the town that night had to eat his way back.
—Folk story
FINDING A HOME
Early in spring a couple of bluebirds set out to look for a home.
"What do you think of this vacant dove-cote for our nest, sweet wife?" asked he. "The view from the top of the gable is beautiful."
"I am afraid of all these windows," said she, peeping in at each. "The wind might prove too strong for our little ones when they come."
